


Love thy enemy (and other things Saviors aren't supposed to do)

by WafflesnRizzles



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: D.E.B.S. - Freeform, F/F, Feels, Fluff, Jefferson is a great wingman, light humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:01:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WafflesnRizzles/pseuds/WafflesnRizzles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Savior Emma Swan is the first member of the Revolution to ever encounter the Evil Queen and live to tell the tale. She also maybe accidentally falls in love, too. </p>
<p>A Swanqueen version of the movie D.E.B.S.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Item 1: Don't have meet-cutes

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I’m not sure how many of you have seen the movie D.E.B.S, but if you haven’t, I highly recommend it. This is the Swan Queen version of that movie. Lighthearted, fluffy and of course, Swendgame.

Emma isn’t really sure how she’s ended up in this situation, but suffice to say, she’s really, _really_ not digging it. Yeah, she’s supposed to be the Savior, and yeah, she’s really damned good with a sword and is pretty kickass with a longbow, but that doesn’t mean she particularly relishes a giant eyebrow-singing fireball in her face.

 

Of all people she had to crash into in her usual ungainly manner, she had to crash into the Evil Queen.

 

(Granted, she had been chasing her adoptive grandmother’s chicken that had gotten loose from its pen, and the little shit had run into the road, heedless of the horse stampeding down the way, so it wasn’t entirely her fault exactly).

 

To be clear, this is the very Evil Queen who—of _fucking_ course—nobody of the Opposition has ever met and lived to tell the tale.

 

And what a tale it would have been. Emma can’t help herself from admiring the sharp relief of her jaw and the deep flashing browns of her eyes; the soft pout of her lips, the color of fresh blood; the dramatic curve of her—

 

“You do realize who I am, don’t you?” the woman drawls, and Emma feels it trip down her spine like cool water over rounded stones. The woman swings her leg over her dark brown giant of a steed and lands gracefully on the ground, the fireball in her palm never flickering in the slightest. It makes Emma take a teensy step back, because, damn, that fireball was hot and the woman seemingly had little concept of personal space.

 

“Uh, the Evil Queen?” Emma answers, her voice far higher than she would have liked. She scrambles up from the ground, her scabbard clanging awkwardly at her side. She holds out a dusty hand, thinks better of it, wipes it off on her equally dusty leather chaps, and offers it to the perplexed woman in front of her.

 

“Evil is subjective, is it not?” the woman asks, regarding the extended hand with distaste. “I prefer just Queen, if you don't mind.”

 

The fireball in the woman’s hand goes out, and Emma feels her body relax significantly. This doesn't go unnoticed by the perceptive Queen, who is regarding Emma rather curiously.

 

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.” Emma feels her cheeks burning, and her eyes fall, unwilling to hold the hawkish brown ones. This is the Evil Queen. Emma is the Savior. Emma should be…vanquishing the woman, right? It was what she had been bred for by the Good Snow White and Prince Charming: to end the reign of the Evil Queen, as was prophesized by the Dark One.

 

“What do you think Evil is?” Emma asks, instead of drawing her sword. It’s out of the blue and she sort of…shouts it. The woman before her starts at the loud sound. It almost makes her seem vulnerable.

 

Human.

 

“I mean, if evil is subjective,” Emma clarifies, before she begins to humanize the demon that is the woman before her. She had grown up a daughter of the revolution. Taught to fight this evil oppressor in favor of plurality and selective governance. It was so unbelievably strange to meet the hated woman here, like this, without a battlefield between them.

 

The woman purses her lips thoughtfully and tilts her head slightly to the side in a manner that was decidedly adorable. You know, as adorable as a feared despot murder could be, at least.

 

“True evil commits evil acts as an end to themselves. Evil for evil’s sake, if you will. Are you familiar with the playwright Shake Sphere?” Emma wasn’t sure where the woman was taking this, but she nodded anyway. “And are you familiar with his play ‘Backgammon’?” Again, Emma nods, remembering seeing a travelling troupe put on that play a couple of years back. The villain, Jafar, had planted brilliant lies to screw up everyone’s lives just for the hell of it, leading to the hero, Backgammon, to kill his love and eventually to commit suicide. He had no ulterior motive, no wrong to right, no injustice or human flaw to explain his misdeeds. He was simply and purely evil.

 

“Everything I do has a purpose. It is not senseless, though I admit, sometimes my tactics can be a little bit draconian.”

 

The woman before her delivers the line with a wry smile, and Emma can’t help but smile back. Were they smiling about her tendency toward murder? This woman…she was nothing like what people had been telling her. She was…she was _more_.

 

“You’re nothing like what they say, you know,” Emma says before she thinks, immediately cursing her loose tongue.

 

“Am I, now?” The words are dark, laced with danger but with a trace of amusement. Emma could see the hint of it in her eyes.

 

Emma’s heart is beating quickly in her chest, and she’s so preoccupied with its tattoo and the wicked curve of the powerful woman’s lips that she nearly jumps when she hears the harsh flapping of bird wings.

 

“TYSON!” Emma shouts, and she mumbles a quick ‘excuse me, sorry’ before leaping across the road in a giant cacophony of creaking leather, rattling scabbard and squawking chicken. She lands on her knees in the dirt, one on either side of the broad hen and both hands on the bird’s neck. She quickly slides one hand under the struggling bird to grab one of its legs and swings the bird into the crook of her arm, where it quickly quiets down.

 

Emma turns around to apologize again to the queen, but when she faces the road again, the mysterious woman is gone.

 

Emma feels a traitorous pang of loss, and it’s with a decidedly heavy tongue that she relates to her aging mother that she met with the Queen.

 

Somehow her words go from, “I saw the queen today” to “I battled the Evil Queen and won today” as they get translated from person to person in their semi-permanent camp. They had successfully held that piece of territory for a few months now, and Emma could feel that her fellow revolutionaries were starting to get too confident. There were talks of taking the next village over, firmly entrenched in the Queen’s territory.

 

There are toasts to her in the flickering firelight and shouts of, ‘Long live the Savior!’ that precede long swigs of mead. Emma tries to smile through her subpar ale, though she longs for her kingdom’s national beverage, cider, inaccessible to them behind ‘enemy’ lines. The beverage of her homeland is mildly sweet but poignantly crisp, refreshing even as it muddied your senses--a far cry from the swill currently occupying her mug. She's pretty sure Dopey made with the brackish river water from the Pride Rock battle with the leftover, rotted barley from last year's crop. Her sword feels heavy against her hip and she feels detached even as her father puts his hand lovingly on her shoulder and the swell of the Old Kingdom’s state song rises jubilantly around her.

 

\----------------

 


	2. Item two: Definitely don’t get kidnapped (and like it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I wasn't supposed to post this until tomorrow, but maybe I have no self control.

Emma awakes to the flickering of a distractingly large fireball. 

“Holy fuck!” Emma reaches for the dagger under her pillow while holding the furs up to her naked chest. “What are you doing here?” 

“I was thinking.” The fireball decreases to a less threatening size, lighting the dark yurt comfortably. The shadows jump hauntingly across the queen’s face, highlighting the hollows of her cheek and the dark glint of her eyes. “I want to hear more about what is said about me.” 

Emma’s heart is beating distractingly loudly again, and it’s difficult for her to croak out, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

The woman smiles, and Emma has never felt more conflicted in her life. Should she refuse the woman? Of course. She is the enemy her parents have been fighting for decades. She is the enemy she had been bred to fight; that she had been prophesied to defeat. 

Of course she shouldn't entertain the woman. That would be... 

Emma sneaks a look at the woman's plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. The previous thought floats idly in her mind. That would be... 

Bad? 

Bad. Going along with whatever the Evil Queen wanted was bad. “I…I can’t. I’d be consorting with the enemy and—”

“In that case…” the woman flicks her wrist and yanks Emma out of bed. Her deep eyes flick over Emma’s exposed body once before Emma is magically clothed in what she was wearing earlier that day. Emma tries to move away to get her sword, but she finds herself thoroughly bound by some unseen force. 

“You’re kidnapping me?” Emma asks incredulously. 

“So it seems. You certainly had no choice in the matter whatsoever.” There is the barest hint of a smile on the woman’s face, and something else Emma can’t quite place. 

“So it seems,” Emma grumbles, allowing herself to be pulled in closer to the magnetic woman. Once she is close enough to see the flecks of gold in the queen’s eyes, she sees the woman wave her hand dramatically and feels the peculiar sensation of her body falling forward over a long cliff while being stretched in a million directions. She next finds herself standing in front of a particularly seedy looking tavern. 

She feels the binds against her fall away as the woman begins sauntering ahead into the tavern, and honestly she feels far too indignant at being ‘kidnapped’ to even think about following. She could take care of herself, thank you very much. 

It’s about ten minutes later, after having narrowly missed embroiling herself in a nasty brawl between two idiots who couldn’t seem to keep their bar fight on _their_ side of the dirt path, that Emma decides maybe just one drink wouldn’t hurt. 

The queen is standing next to another woman some years older than she with flaxen hair and deep-set eyes that occasionally flash bright green. Regina smiles politely at Emma when she enters, and the older blonde regards Emma with a critical eye. 

“You’re the Savior,” she states plainly to Emma, clearly not at all impressed. She shoots a long look at the queen before continuing, “Regina failed to mention that tiny bit of information.” 

Regina. The name sounded so perfect for the regal woman before her. It rang deeply in Emma’s mind and echoed loudly in her chest. “Yeah, well, it’s a job at least. And in this economy, that’s certainly something!” 

Emma’s bad joke fell flat on the two women, not that she should have expected any less when she is joking about a bad economy to the ruler of the kingdom with said economy. And, you know, you’re prophesized to seize power from said ruler. 

“So,” the older blonde says, drawing out the syllable with pursed red lips. “Why don’t we grab some drinks, hm?” 

Suddenly remembering that she should not in any way be there, and certainly not enjoying it, Emma crosses her arms petulantly and refuses to answer. Instead, she follows the queen over to an occupied table, stomping for good measure. The table quickly vacates with one pointed stare from the small woman, and suddenly, in a dim and dusty tavern, the two of them are alone and it feels decidedly intimate. 

“So tell me, what does your dear mother say of me?” Regina purrs, sliding Emma a pint of cider. 

Emma certainly does not shiver from the proximity of the woman’s lips to her ears, and most definitely does not feel any sort of complimentary reaction in her lower stomach. She moans just a little bit as the cider touches her lips, the sound mostly just coming out of her nose as the liquid slid down her throat in thick gulps. She wants to express her gratitude for the beverage, but instead chooses to play it cool, sipping her second glass with more control while looking out over the tavern patrons. 

“Surely you can’t be silent forever?” Regina asks, her lips quirking up in amusement at the blonde’s determined quiescence. 

Emma’s eyes squint to scan the seedy tavern, whose patrons seemed to be of the Unspeakable variety. There were werewolves, definitely a few vampires, dragons, a number of bandits and known murderers and…

“Ruby?” Emma asks incredulously, eyeing her godmother and mother’s best friend with clear judgment. 

The leggy brunette woman stops with a jerk, her eyes wide before narrowing considerably. “Emma!” 

“Wolf,” Regina says in greeting, inserting herself comfortably between the two staring women. “I see you’ve found Mal,” she notes as the older blonde comes up behind Ruby. 

“Mal, as in the peasant-killing dragon Maleficent?” Emma asks, her pitch increasing in tandem with her incredulity. She gazed with wide green eyes between the Evil Queen to her right and the best friend of the leader of the rebels to her left. 

“The very one,” Mal answers with a predatory smile, all teeth and daring. She places a possessive hand on Ruby’s arm, intent upon leading her away from the queen and Savior. 

“Mal and I go way back,” Ruby says by way of explanation. She shrugs at Emma’s slack-jawed expression. “I mean—you’re obviously here with the Evil Queen. I don’t think you have any room to judge.” Mal tugs once more on Ruby’s arm, in a way that hinted at familiarity and possessiveness all at once. 

Sputtering slightly, Emma manages to yell, “SHE KIDNAPPED ME!” at Ruby’s retreating form. She takes a large sip of her cider, relishing in the way the carbonation popped in her mouth and the way the alcohol bit at the tip of her tongue. The room was dim, lit by a number of candelabras placed at awkward intervals and a large fire in the chimney on the other side of the room. A trill of adventure sparked up Emma’s stomach and into her face, where she had to fight not to smile. This was the first time she had ever been behind enemy lines; the first time she had been around a person not fighting with the Opposition; the first time she had ever felt so alive. 

The very fact that there was a distinct possibility that the Evil Queen was playing her made this rendezvous that much more enthralling. She had no idea what the queen wanted—it very likely was Emma’s own demise—and, masochistic as it may be, Emma was relishing it. She had been the good daughter of the just and rightful deposed King and Queen, bred for ascension to the throne and eventual marriage to strengthen the kingdom they would undoubtedly regain. She had lived a confined, narrow life, and here the evil queen was, offering her a taste of the freedom she had never known. 

“So tell me, why were you chasing that chicken, anyway?” Regina asks after silently watching Emma for some time. It was fascinating to watch the play of emotions on the blonde’s face. 

“It’s a long, complicated story,” Emma says bashfully. Seeing Regina incline her head in a ‘go ahead’ motion, Emma continues, “Okay, so I just broke up with my boyfriend Hook. He’s a good guy, and my parents love him and he’s the best warrior we’ve got in the Revolution, even if he only has one good hand…but anyway, we never really seemed to work well together. It wasn’t what my parents have. It wasn’t even love,” Emma said, pausing to take a large and rather undignified swig of cider. _Damn_ that shit was good. Regina couldn’t help but wonder if her utter lack of manners could be attributed more to her childhood as an orphan or to her existence in camps with rough peasant men fighting with the Opposition. 

“He didn’t really take me breaking up with him very well. He threw the nearest thing to him, which happened to be a cast iron pan, and it went flying into our makeshift chicken coop, where it knocked down the fencing. Tyson got out, and Granny started yelling at me to get her because it was obviously my fault Hook threw the damned pan." 

("It's always my fault," Emma grouses under her breath.) 

"So I followed her until I ran into you.” 

“Wait, what were you doing so near rebel camps, anyway?” Emma asks as an afterthought. She turns her head with the realization, only to find that Regina is sitting just inches away from her. When did they get that close, anyway? This woman really did lack any concept of personal space. 

It was now Regina’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

Emma drains her cider, but when she moves to get up to order another one, she finds that her glass has already been refilled. The brunette next to her shrugs, and Emma is certain she isn’t imagining the pale pink blush that is tinting the other woman’s cheeks so beautifully. She had obviously been doing something embarrassing before running into Emma. The question was: what? 

“Oh, I think you do! You were alone and unarmed riding past near Snow White’s army—come on, if you tell me, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Emma seals her plea with a winning smile, and she’s far too pleased with herself when the blushing queen capitulates.

“As you wish. If you must know, I was returning to my Kingdom after a disastrous blind date.” 

Emma gapes at the woman next to her, amazed that such a maligned and powerful woman would do something so normal as go on a blind date. 

“How does a queen manage to snag a blind date?” Emma wonders aloud.

“My idiot subordinate, Jefferson, thought it would be a fantastic idea to set me up with an assassin in the court of the Golden Kingdom. Oh—don’t look so smug. She was an emotional powder keg and aspired to be a ballroom dance instructor. Mind you, the woman couldn’t dance her way out of this tavern. It was nothing less than painful,” Regina said in a rather clipped manner that quickly faded to resignation. 

Did the queen just say the pronoun ‘she’? Was Regina into women? Emma’s heart sped up at the thought, but she quickly pushed down her excitement. Nope, no excitement here. Not at all. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you,” Emma responds carefully. “It must be pretty lonely being the Evil Queen and all.” 

“It must be pretty lonely being the Savior, too.” 

Emma nods. Boy, did she know. Growing up the literal daughter of the Revolution, the Golden Child prophesized to save them all, put her on a pedestal so high she needed a damned telescope to even peer into Normalcy. Everything was simultaneously all about her and not about her at all, the way they would dote on her as the Savior and never once deign to realize she was an actual person. 

“I feel like everybody has this idea of who I’m supposed to be—my parents, Hook, the rebels. I broke up with him because I didn’t have what my parents have with him and I never would. Because every happiness that I could find would be in their shadow, you know? It would be in their footsteps, which is what I’ve been doing my entire life. I just—is it weird that I just want to be a carpenter?”

“No. I don’t think that is strange at all. Why carpentry?” 

“Well, I’ve always been good at working with wood, but a few years back I met this carpenter, and he’s really, really good. The stuff he makes—it’s absolutely beautiful. And people buy his furniture for newlywed couples and for babies when they’re born and it’s something that stays with them their entire lives, something that’s so innocent and useful. I want…I want that. Not leading people to their deaths over—” Emma pauses, suddenly remembering that she was actually talking to the person she was supposed to be fighting against. “Over something that happened so long ago.” 

Emma can’t read Regina’s thoughts at all because her deep brown eyes are clouded with so much emotion. The only thing Emma can really tease out is an overwhelming feeling of understanding, which cuts to the quick of Emma like lightening. 

The woman is moving closer—when had they gotten so close, anyway?—and Emma can feel the heat of Regina’s breath against her chin and then her cheek. She feels drunk with the proximity of the woman, who had suddenly made everything in Emma’s world fade to a single point of nonentity. There were only intent, shimmering eyes, pink cheeks and sinfully red lips; short puffs of warm breath that smelled like apples and truffles; and the press of a grounded hand against her thigh, fingers stroking the inner seam of her chaps in anticipation, possibly in nervousness. 

Nerves—all centered in between her legs and—

“Oh my gods!” A shout breaks the two of them apart, Emma retreating away hastily; the queen straightening slowly with her usual grace and a murderous stare. “You were going to kiss her!” Ruby exclaims, rounding on the queen. Warm brown eyes meet still darker ones, each flashing with challenge. Their eyes hold for a few tense moments, and Ruby is aware that the entire tavern has stopped to stare anxiously at them. 

“And you were going to let her!” Ruby exclaims, now rounding on Emma, giving up on her battle of wills with the vengeful queen. 

“I should—we should go,” Emma stutters, her brain not functioning properly after almost kissing the Evil Queen. In all likelihood, her brain had stopped functioning well before the almost, because it had fooled her into thinking the queen wanted anything other than to seriously fuck with her head. 

“Of course,” Regina answers, far too quickly, her own face marred by an uncharacteristic half-smile. “I’ll just drop you back off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: 
> 
> Item 3: Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder


	3. Item 3: Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder

 

“I met someone.”

 

The man sitting across from her opens his mouth dramatically, slamming down his knife in surprise. “No!”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Who is it?” He leans forward, suddenly completely absorbed in the woman before him where he had previously been absorbed with the very tender poultry they were having.

 

“She’s perfect. Tall. Blonde. A bit of an idiot, but…I can look past that, I suppose. Muscular—”

 

“And let me guess: has two idiot parents who are trying to take over your kingdom?” the man interrupts in disbelief. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Let me repeat, Regina: no.”

 

“Why ever not?” Regina asks innocently, a smile playing on her lips and in her eyes.

 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because she’s prophesized to _kill you_?” The man pushes his plate away from himself, as if too disgusted by the topic to even fathom eating again. He picks up his glass and takes a pointed gulp of the rouge liquid.

 

“Oh, Jefferson. That won’t be a problem, dear.”

 

“And why is that?” The man’s dry, biting tone rivaled that of the queen’s, making the two of them quite the disturbing pair.

 

“She likes me.”

 

The sentence is so simple, so innocent, that Jefferson can’t help but to laugh a large, loud, slightly manic, laugh. He grips his stomach as his head lays down on the long, polished wooden table, panting from paroxysm after paroxysm of amusement. When he lifts his head to finally look at the queen, he sees she is certainly _not_ laughing with him.

 

“You’re completely serious, aren’t you?”

 

Regina smiles tightly in response, stabbing at her duck and shoving a pointed bite in her mouth.

 

“The irony of our meal tonight doesn’t escape me, my queen.” Regina glares in his direction, chewing deliberately and refusing to answer. Jefferson takes it as a cue to continue. “We’re eating Swan tonight.”

 

Regina stops chewing, casting a glance over at the large bird, browned perfectly and stuffed with apples, on the platter in front of them.

 

Emma Charming was known to the Revolution as The Swan, so named by the Revolution because she had grown up an orphan amongst peasants at her parents’ behest, but had joined when the Blue Fairy thought the time was ripe for her Coming.

 

Regina smiled particularly lecherously at the roast bird in front of her, carving off another piece just to spite the annoying little man across from her who thought Emma was a bad idea.

 

“You are playing with fire, my queen.”

 

“Good thing it’s my forte, then.” Regina answers easily.

 

She _would_ get the girl, mostly to spite Jefferson and all parties involved, but also maybe because, for the first time, she felt like she was chasing after something other than revenge and whims; that maybe Emma could be something far more lasting than the fleeting thrill of victory; that maybe Emma could be happiness.

 

But mostly, she would wipe that doubtful look from Jefferson’s insufferable face and would knock twin looks of horror onto the faces of her sworn enemies. And that, right there, was worth pretty much everything.

 

It takes about a week for Regina to come up with the perfect plan to see Emma again. Regina had never been one for plotting and scheming—it was just so _passé_. She usually was one for immediate and, admittedly, slightly dramatic action.

 

The trap is in the town of Cavanna, where a number of strange birdlike creatures exist. They aren’t quite dragons, and they aren’t quite gryphons and they aren’t quite humans, but they are quite skilled beekeepers and trappers. Their race is generally just referred to as ‘The Cavanna,’ mostly because those not of their race find their actual name impossible to pronounce. It mostly sounds to Regina like a hard ‘C’ followed by a cough and a series of throat-clearings punctuated by hisses.

 

As queen, she has infrequent contact with the Cavanna’s monarch, an aged female named Ca’ar who speaks broken English and always has a sharp, unnerving knowledge glinting in her large, amber eyes. Regina had granted Cavanna semi-autonomous status some years ago, and held a fragile peace with its ruler, a known rebel sympathizer. The rebels had free passage in the semi-autonomous state, so it was the perfect location for the trap.

 

The Cavanna had aligned with the Revolution officially when it began over thirty years ago, but being a pacifistic race, they never took up arms against the queen. They existed in a precarious position between the Opposition and the Regime, often hosting peace talks that generally devolved into intractable and wholly unsupportable demands, harsh words and harsher retaliatory raids and strikes to follow.

 

At this point, it was a prescribed game, and Regina often wondered if the conflict would ever finally cease.

 

“Jefferson, do send this letter to Cavanna.” Regina rolls up the thick parchment and carefully lifts up the red candle beside her so that its wax drips on the exposed edge. Replacing the candle, she presses her ring into the soft wax, running her index finger over the impressed design: an apple tree with a golden egg planted underneath. The golden egg symbolized wealth and prosperity for her kingdom; and the apple tree represented Regina herself.

 

“Shall I send that out, too?” Jefferson asks, pointing to the drying letter still on Regina’s desk as he takes the scroll from his queen.

 

“That won’t be necessary. I wish to take care of this myself,” Regina answers cryptically. This has Jefferson worried, of course, but he knows better than to provoke his irascible mistress by directly voicing it. He has an in with the pigeon keeper, anyway.

 

Last time had almost ended in the untimely annihilation of a small island named Australis-insulam.

 

Once the heavy door closes behind Jefferson, Regina moves to the window, where she uses her magic to summon a bird to her. The irony isn’t lost on her when the bird lands on her finger. She is immediately reminded of her hated stepdaughter, whom animals and humans alike seemed to adore.

 

She apologizes to the bird—she was, after all, sending it straight into the insufferable Snow White’s clutches—and watches it for a moment as it puffs up, its beige chest feathers bulging out in a decidedly cute manner and contrasting with the sleek and dark polka-dotted feathers covering the rest of its body. She strokes its body with an index finger momentarily before thinking better of her oddly sentimental actions, quickly enchanting it so that it would ‘faint’ right above the rebel camp.

 

Right into the clutches of one Emma Swan, whose fingers and soft bowstring lips had been not infrequently visiting Regina’s one-track mind. Her thoughts had reached an almost fever pitch, her body demanding action while her mind demanded calm reason. The duality was jarring, and admittedly made her a bit irascible, but also made her feel so _alive_ for the first time in many, many moons, and more often brought a slow, rising smile to her lips than an angry scowl.

 

“Be swift now, little bird!” Regina trills to the little starling as she released it back out the window, letter attached to its thin foot. Its small wings flap powerfully until it finds an updraft, which it rides southwest toward the rebel-held territories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next:  
> Item four: seriously, stop enjoying being kidnapped.


	4. Item four: seriously, stop enjoying being kidnapped

“Snow. This is _definitely_ a trap,” Emma repeats, her hands firmly crossed on her chest and her feet propped up on the rough table before her.

 

“Emma, don’t you see? It doesn’t matter—if there’s even a chance the Cavanna are in danger, we need to be there. It’s the right thing to do.”

 

Ugh. Emma didn't even bother suppressing the eye roll that her mother’s speech had elicited. She guesses she’s at least now used to these virtuous polemics, but it didn’t make them any easier to bear.

 

  
“A bird with a letter ordering Regina’s troops to Cavanna _just so happens_ to fall _right_ into our camp, which, by the way, is _nowhere near Cavanna_ or the General Regina was writing to.”

 

Snow’s eyes cast downward, clouding over in thought quickly replaced by wonder. “You called the Evil Queen ‘Regina.’”

 

Uh…shit.

 

Ruby’s pointed look to Emma that said ‘You dug your own grave’ told her she would be getting no help from the traitorous wolf.

 

“Well, I mean, I figure by giving her that title, we’re just playing into what she wants, right?” Emma reasons. It’s weak, but hey, her mother is just trusting enough that she might believe it.

 

“Oh. I never thought of that,” Snow mused, looking curiously at Ruby, who she noticed was making intense eye contact with her daughter. “Is there something I should know?” She asks, looking between the two women.

 

The simultaneous, “Nope,” and “Ask Emma,” has Snow glaring at her daughter again.

 

“Emma,” the woman draws out the final syllable, somehow perfecting the disapproving ‘mom voice’ even though she had never actually raised Emma.

 

“It’s nothing! Gosh!” Emma shouts, stalking out of the room, feeling very much like a hormonal teenager. Or maybe her time of bleeding was nigh. One could never quite tell these things until they were already irrelevant.

 

Snow has them leaving at dawn. They march in full formation, four abreast on the muddy road. She, Ruby, Mulan and—ugh—Hook are tasked with riding ahead of the ground forces to do recon.

 

The sun is bright overhead and Emma is more than a little bit sweaty under her heavy brigandine. The air feels cool against her face, though, as she and Ruby nudge their steeds into a comfortable lope, the green of the forest rushing past them in the periphery and the soft squelch of hooves against road the only sound for quite some time.

 

It’s almost peaceful.

 

Almost.

 

“SAVIOR! SAVIOR!” squalls a man running towards them, his red, pimply face coming more into focus as she urges her horse toward him. She draws up next to him rather ungracefully, her horse’s sudden stop sending mud flying all over his legs and a few droplets hit his less-than-clean face.

 

He squints up at her, his beady blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. “You _are_ the Savior, right?”

 

“Uh, yes.”

 

“Cause I always thought you’d be taller.” He squints at her again. “And less…masculine.”

 

“ _What do you want_?” Emma grinds out, trying to ignore Ruby’s tittering.

 

He seems to remember himself at this. He straightens, puffs his chest out and utters in an altogether too-loud voice, “The Evil Queen was advancing upon Cavanna. She marches with about fifty troops at her order, Savior.”

 

Emma grinds her teeth at this. She doesn’t really know Regina, but she knows Regina is likely doing this to attract her attention. They should all just turn around _right_ now—

 

“Thank you—” Ruby pauses, waiting for the man to give her his name.

 

“Williamsby Horner, Captain.”

 

“Williamsby for your service. Will you please continue on to relay this to the King and Queen? The four of us will continue riding along ahead.”

 

“T-the K-King and Q-q-q-queen?” he stutters, apparently floored at the chance to speak to them.

 

“Yes. Tell them your words are from Captain Ruby Slippers.”

  
“Captain Ruby _Slippers_?”

 

“Yes. They’ll know what that means.”

 

And with that, they were off, their horses’ hooves once again sucking in the mud and carving deep divets in the already ruined road.

 

Somebody should really do something about that.

\--------------------------------------

 

“Jefferson, please get Aladdin Rough to do something about those roads. They’re dreadful. Give him the first price he asks for," Regina says in her usual commanding voice, her lips curling with distaste at the mud that had seriously hampered their progress and had marred her fine leather boots. 

 

“With haste, my queen,” Jefferson responds. “It would be much quicker if we were to just go home instead of waste our time and our precious allies on this harebrained plan of yours.”

 

“She’ll come.”

 

“I know she’ll come. I just don’t think this is the best way to go about it. Ask her for drinks. Dinner maybe. Don’t take the entire winter stores of one of your allies hostage just to get the chance to watch your intended try to thwart you.”

 

“You obviously know nothing about romance.”

 

“And _you_ about reality.” Regina scoffs at this, and Jefferson stomps off, footsteps squelching, to the carriages, into which a number of soldiers were busy loading large earthen jars of honey from a large, squat building.

 

A soldier rides up to the Queen, salutes her and dismounts. “My Queen,” he begins. “The savior and three others have been spotted approaching Cavannah.”

 

Regina grins widely. It makes the guard pale a bit. “Perfect. Take the last of the honey and clear out using the back roads. That is all.”

 

The soldier bows again and mounts his horse, cantering over to the soldiers loading up the honey with practiced ease. Regina waves her hand and appears in the throne room of Ca’ar, who is currently tied to her throne with vines.

 

“I apologize for having to put you through this, Ca’ar. I promise you no harm will come to the Savior.”

  
Ca’ar only narrows her intelligent eyes at Regina and tosses her head because her beak is bound. With a wave of her hand, Regina releases her beak from the vines. “How much do you think honey is going for these days?” Regina asks thoughtfully.

 

“Thirty sickles a jar,” Ca’ar hisses. Regina knows it’s a lie—she likes to keep tabs on the economy of her kingdom, and as of two days ago it had been twenty-six sickles a jar.

 

“I’ll give you fifty-five per jar.”

 

“Our cold-time stores they are, Regina.”

 

“Oh, I’ll give them all back. I just meant that I shall pay you 55 a jar for your trouble,” Regina says with a wide, plastered grin. Always offer a worse deal before offering the deal you intended all along. Her time as a pupil of Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been _all_ wasted.

 

Ca’ar narrows her eyes at Regina again. “I have no comprehension of what you intend to accomplish, human Queen. But mind you next time leave--" and here Ca'ar says the proper name of her people in an elegant, guttural hiss, "out of it.” Ca’ar pauses, air hissing out of her beak almost like a sigh. “We have an agreement.”

 

“Excellent!” Regina exclaims, clapping her hands together. She waves her right hand to bind Ca’ar’s mouth up once more and moves off to the room adjoining the throne room. She waves her hand again and smiles with the result, and then with a poof of purple smoke, she is gone.

 

Not ten minutes later, the Savior bursts into the throne room, her sword held high. “Master Ca’ar,” Emma says, looking quickly around the room for enemies before bowing low in respect. Three other humans burst into the room behind her, each sweeping the room for intruders before bowing low just like Emma. “Which way did she go?” Emma asks, not bothering to break Ca’ar free.

 

Ca’ar sighs through her nose and moves her eyes to her left toward the adjoining room. She ruffles her wings as much as she can to try to indicate that she would like to be unbound, but Ruby only whispers to her, “We’ll let you out right after we make sure it’s safe!” before they all disappear into the small anteroom.

 

Ca’ar sighs a third time when she hears the groan of stones against stones as the floor gives way and four exclamations of surprise, followed by three shouts of, “Emma!”

 

Humans were utter idiots, which is why the Cavannah chose to engage with them as little as possible.

 

“What the?” Emma asks before her eyes adjust to the dim light of the basement. How on earth did she even get there? She looked around—Ruby, Mulan and Hook were nowhere in sight.

 

A shadowy figure began to cross the room, and she quickly scrambled to her feet while fumbling around for her sword. “Don’t come any closer…”

 

“Regina?” Emma asks as the woman comes into view.

 

The answering smirk kind of makes her aroused but mostly makes her blood boil.

 

“Did you do all this just to see me?” Emma asks, her head cocked to the side much like a dog would when it was trying to figure something out.

 

“But of course.”

 

Regina was standing really, really close to her now, and suddenly Emma’s hands were really slippery, causing the golden hilt of her sword to slide out of her hands and land on the stone floor with a clatter.

 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

 

“Didn’t I?”

 

Emma pauses. Okay, so maybe Regina did. Because there was no way Emma would ever assent to go anywhere with the Evil Queen. Because…reasons.

 

“Wait.” Emma says, squaring her jaw. “What did you do with Mulan, Ruby and Hook?”

 

“Nothing,” Regina answers, her dark, seductive eyes suddenly unwilling to meet Emma’s own.

 

“Regina,” Emma commands. “Tell. Me.”

 

“I may have set a tiny little trap for them.” Regina answers, fumbling with the hem of her sleeve and flashing Emma a tiny, ingratiating smile. It sends a small flutter into Emma’s stomach.

 

Were Emma to be in the room above, she would see Mulan, Hook and Ruby hanging from the ceiling by thick vines wrapped around their right legs. The vines were thrashing them around, growing angrier each time Mulan tried to hack at them with her sword and Ruby tried to gnaw on them with her wolf teeth. Hook was essentially the same color as the vines, and was simply being thrown around like a ragdoll.

 

_“You ladies want a last drink of rum?” Hook asks, uncapping his flask and taking a long swig of rum that mostly dribbled right down his forehead and into his greasy hair._

_“NO!” Mulan yells, hacking at a vine that was currently trying to wrest her sword from her._

_“I’ll take some,” Ruby responds, waiting for the vine that was wrapped around her to swing her toward Hook, who handed the flask off to her without spilling a drop of it._  
  


_“Ruby!” Mulan yells, aghast that Ruby would imbibe alcohol at a time like this. She yells again when Ruby’s vine shakes her particularly violently, causing the rum to splatter all over her._

_“Shit. That was the last of it,” Ruby says sadly to Hook, who promptly pukes._

 

“Regina. _Let them go_.”

 

Seeing she wasn’t going to get anywhere with the blonde until she called off her vines, she waves her hand and the vines disappear, causing the trio to drop unceremoniously to the hard floor.

 

“Thank you,” Emma breathes out, feeling relieved knowing her companions are safe. Regina, at least, looks a little bit chagrined. “You can’t keep doing this, you know.”

 

“I can’t?”

 

“No! You can’t keep doing bad things just so we can meet for—what, ten minutes?”

 

Technically, this was the first time Regina had ever done such a thing, but she wasn’t about to correct Emma. “So come with me, then.”

 

Emma pauses. Go with her? That was madness. Right?

 

“I can’t. I’d lose everything.” Her parents. Her reputation. Her birthright. Her—well, losing her parents was bad, at least.

 

“I can kidnap you again,” Regina’s smile is bright and hopeful, and Emma really, really wishes it didn’t make her feel the way it did. Regina is so close to Emma that she can feel the woman’s soft puffs of breath against her face. Her eyes zero in on the dark red stained lips and then back up to the devastating, dark-lined eyes. Her heart beating loudly in her chest, Emma lunges forward, closing the miniscule gap between the two of them and feeling for the first time the soft press of her lips against Regina’s.

 

The woman whimpers lightly as Emma’s hands find Regina’s waist and pulls her even tighter to her. The queen’s hands move up to find Emma’s long golden curls, and Emma is certain time has stopped for them as their lips find each other again and again.

 

“Wow.”

 

Regina smiles in response, her eyes crinkling in the corners and looking like melted cocoa. “Come with me,” Regina pleads, her voice even lower and raspier with desire.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay?” The surprise on Regina’s face is evident, and it makes Emma smile that much more.

 

“Okay.”

 

And when Regina waves her hand the first time, a large volume of purple smoke shoots through the ceiling and hovers above the main building in Cavannah. The smoke begins to dance and move, slowly forming the words, ‘I’VE GOT THE SAVIOR’ and hovering in place for all to see.

 

The second wave of Regina’s hands envelops the two of them in dark purple smoke that is soft and cool to the touch. It completely obscures the room from their view, and begins pulling at Emma again so that she feels like every cell of her body is trying to go a different way.

 

When her cells settle again and the thick purple smoke clears, a small cozy room appears around her. It has rough wooden floors, a small stone fireplace and a rug with plush cushions. She can see a hallway branching off from the main room she’s standing in. It looks decidedly unlike a giant, intimidating castle that a Queen is supposed to live in.

 

“Where are we?” Emma asks, turning slightly to see the woman at her side.

 

“Someplace nobody will find us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: 
> 
> Item 2: Definitely don't get kidnapped (and like it).


End file.
